Losing Grip
by LaylaBinx
Summary: All he knew was that Arthur's blood was all over his hands and it was getting harder and harder to convince himself that this wasn't real. *Repost!*


**Hey guys! I had to repost this story because of a formatting error. Meh...=/ Oh well, its back up now! :D**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing =/**

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He remembered hearing Cobb say one time that after too much time delving into people's dreams, it became hard to tell the difference between reality and fiction. The real world began to blur with the dream world and then it was a quick descent into madness after that. That's what happened to Mal...He shuddered to think about something like that happening again.

The totems were designed to give distinct clarity between the lines of real and projection but even those only went so far. It was only a matter of time before you began to doubt the thing which was supposed to be the one sure thing in this line of work. It didn't help the fact that the dream world was so incredibly realistic, everything from the people, to the buildings, to the dangers hiding behind every corner. Even the deaths seemed remarkably real...

He'd only seen Cobb die twice, both times it was because of Mal. Ariadne had only died once, he hadn't seen that but he knew it was because of Mal as well. He'd lost track of how many times he'd "died" while on a job; it had been every horrible fate imaginable from being shot, to thrown off the roof of a building, caught on fire, drowning, the list went on forever. Arthur's list surpassed his in both frequency and method. Hell, Arthur had been killed in nearly every mission they'd gone on in the beginning. Before the younger man learned to protect himself in the dream world, he became an instant target for any hostile projections that happened to be lurking around, waiting for the chance to strike down an intruder in their world. It never made it any easier to watch him die though.

Right now, amidst all the chaos going on around them, Eames couldn't be sure if they were in a dream or not. He didn't have direct access to his totem at the moment, it had been knocked out of his hand in the flurry of gunfire (something he made damn sure wasn't going to happen again) and he had no idea where Cobb or Ariadne were. All he knew was that Arthur's blood was all over his hands and it was scaring the shit out of him.

It felt so real, too real, between the pained look on the younger man's face and slick, warm feeling of the blood gushing between his fingers, this was a little too real for his liking. Their target's subconscious was fighting back viciously, bullets pock-marking the walls all around them. He'd fully expected to see the armed guards, he'd expected them to put up some kind of resistance against the foreign visitors within their world, but what he hadn't expected was for Arthur to take the bullet meant for him. It hit him in the stomach, low enough to where he wouldn't bleed to death quickly but high enough to ensure that it had pierced several vital organs. High enough to make sure that he died a very slow, very painful death. There wouldn't be any fast release by waking up for a while.

Eames was crouched over him, hands pressed tightly over the wound. He tried to convince himself this wasn't the real Arthur, this was a projection, a phantom of the real thing. Projection Arthur groaned in pain as more pressure was applied to the wound, his face paling even more. "You have to go..." He ground out between clenched teeth, his normally cool, impassive expression masked with a grimace of pain.

"Couldn't even if I wanted to, love." Eames muttered, looking over his shoulder at the swarm of armed guards that were coming their way. He could probably come up with a couple of guns, a grenade or two maybe before they got here, but that would mean taking his hands off the gushing wound in Arthur's stomach and he couldn't do that. Not yet. "Looks like this job's goin' down in flames already, huh?" He joked, trying to ignore the way his stomach did a lazy flip when his hands squelched with Arthur's blood.

The Point Man hissed in pain, squeezing his eyes shut tightly. His face was covered in a thin sheet of sweat, the color completely drained from his skin, and it was getting harder and harder to convince himself this wasn't real. There had been a few jobs in the past where Eames had felt like he'd woken up before the designated time, felt the kick before he was supposed to. It had felt like a kick when Arthur had been shot, a heavy, solid kick to his gut.

The guards were getting closer and Eames cursed softly, wondering if he should just dream up a pistol and put Arthur out of his misery. But that meant shooting him, killing the younger man with his bare hands. It was just a projection, it wasn't the real Arthur, right? It should be easy, right?

But it wasn't easy. He still couldn't convince himself that the young man on the ground in front of him, bleeding, dying slowly while he watched, wasn't the real Arthur. God, he wished he could get to his totem.

He had almost made the decision to simply shoot the Point Man and put him out of his misery when he felt a gun press into the back of his head. He couldn't react before it fired and everything went dark.

Eames sat up with a gasp, the real world crashing down around him. He looked around the room, taking in the sight of Cobb, Ariadne, and Arthur all reclined in the chairs, a line of an IV connecting to each of them. They were here, all of them, but in his mind he still saw Arthur bleeding to death in front of him. In his mind, he saw Arthur dying once again. He ripped the IV out of his arm and jumped out of the chair, walking over to the Point Man.

Arthur was still in the drug induced sleep, his head falling to one side and his face relaxed. One hand was resting over his stomach, in the exact spot the bullet had hit, and there was another flash of the younger man dying. It was still too real...

Digging into his pocket, Eames grabbed his totem, a poker chip that always landed on red in the dream world even though it didn't have a red side. Keeping it firmly grasped in one hand, he reached out with the other and gently pressed his fingers to the side of Arthur's neck. He flipped the totem into the air, counting its rotations in time with Arthur's pulse.

He caught it, breathing a sigh of relief when it landed black in his palm. He could still feel the younger man's pulse fluttering in a sleep-slowed rhythm against his fingertips and he felt himself being pulled back to reality once more, this time with a little more clarity.

Cobb shifted in his chair, opening his eyes and looking over at the Forger with a frown. "What's wrong?" He asked, his voice taking on a wary tone.

Eames started to answer but stopped when Arthur shifted in his chair as well. He blinked slowly, coming back to reality with surprising composure for someone who had just been gut-shot. He glanced up at Eames, noticing the Forger standing above him.

Eames waited for him to swat his hand away or tell him to stop touching him but he didn't, he just remained still, seeming to realize something Cobb hadn't.

"Everything okay?" Cobb asked, sitting up a bit more as Ariadne began to stir, blinking at the opposite wall. The Target was still unconscious, he'd be around before too much longer.

The Forger nodded slowly, pulling his hand back and offering them a perfectly composed smile. "Course." He said with a smile, taking a step away from the chair and toward the door. "Just needed to make sure." He said, tossing a wave over his shoulder and walked outside to get a breath of fresh air. He knew Arthur was watching his retreat and he knew he would never bring it up. He knew Arthur wouldn't tell Cobb or Ariadne that Eames sometimes questioned his grasp on reality. And Eames would never tell any of them that seeing Arthur die killed a little bit of him as well.

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**Hope you all liked it! :D**


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